


Chum

by CKBookish



Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [23]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce gets soap smashed in his face, Bubble Bath, Depression, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick gets hugs and held, Dick is a sad smol bean who misses his parents, Dick runs away then gets lost and Bruce comes and finds him., Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Lost in the Woods, running way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27374242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CKBookish/pseuds/CKBookish
Summary: Dick trumped through the leaves, stopping his feet roughly. He relished the sound of the crunch beneath his shoes as he tread on the brown, dead leaves before him.  He felt rather justified in his satisfaction.  After all the world had taken so much from him, why wouldn’t he do his best to crush it in return.  The woods were cool and as he went deeper into them they grew darker.  The sun had long set, and the sky was quickly vanishing as the trees grew thicker.  Wayne Manor was far behind him.  He was never going back.He hated those pristine walls, those old floor boards.  He hated the quiet.  He hated the stuffy furniture and the rules and the vases and pictures.  He hated his new guardian and that… that… Dick couldn’t remember what Alfred was called,  but he hated it.The bag on his back felt heavy.  It had everything Dick owned in it.  Well and a toothbrush that Alfred had given him.  But he didn’t think that was really stealing.Batman Bingo 2020: Kidnapped
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590904
Comments: 63
Kudos: 306





	Chum

**Author's Note:**

> I am almost done with this series which is so crazy to say. I have two more after this one. A huge thank you to everyone who has been following this series from the beginning. We are so close! 
> 
> As always I LOVE to hear from you!

I keep collections of memories and lost moments: 

A net of sad soliloquies and sobriquets

They are burdens to carry

They are nooses from which I hang

As I wander alone on cold empty nights

\--Please don’t become another one.

* * *

Dick trumped through the leaves, stopping his feet roughly. He relished the sound of the crunch beneath his shoes as he tread on the brown, dead leaves before him. He felt rather justified in his satisfaction. After all the world had taken so much from him, why wouldn’t he do his best to crush it in return. The woods were cool and as he went deeper into them they grew darker. The sun had long set, and the sky was quickly vanishing as the trees grew thicker. Wayne Manor was far behind him. He was never going back. 

He hated those pristine walls, those old floor boards. He hated the quiet. He hated the stuffy furniture and the rules and the vases and pictures. He hated his new guardian and that… that… Dick couldn’t remember what Alfred was called, but he hated it. 

The bag on his back felt heavy. It had everything Dick owned in it. Well and a toothbrush that Alfred had given him. But he didn’t think that was _really_ stealing. Dick felt guilty enough about taking the old tarp from the garage and the packages of pop tarts and water bottles. He hadn’t taken very many and Alfred had promised him that he and Bruce didn’t even like pop tarts when he had told Dick the other day he was welcome to eat them if he was feeling hungry between meals. 

The only other things Dick carried were three sets of clothes and his dad’s compass. Bruce had said Haly was mailing some things, but it didn’t matter. Dick would get there before he’d have the chance to send them. He wasn’t staying in this dump of a city. He wasn’t staying with this strange man who didn’t want him. Dick would walk to Wisconsin and find Haly himself. And-- though Dick didn’t want to think about it-- If Haly wouldn’t take him, he would find his own way. 

Dick had walked over three hours before his feet got tired. He dragged himself over to the trunk of a friendly looking oak tree and sat down. He wondered if Bruce had noticed him missing yet. He doubted it. The man never was home anyway. They likely wouldn’t know he was gone until morning. Dick had snuck out his window after telling Alfred that he was going to bed early. 

Dick watched watched as the forest got darker and darker. He wondered if the moon would be out tonight. He doubted it. Black clouds had formed last he glimpsed the sky. It was likely these that made it so dark. He should find some sort of shelter for the night, he knew that. But it was also awfully tempting to sit against this tree all night. But he knew that would leave him too cold to continue walking in the morning. 

His dad used to take him camping, so he knew how to pitch a tent. Dick pulled out the tarp and unfolded it carefully. He looked around and tried to find a good place to set up for the night. He would start walking again early. He would head West. That’s where Wisconsin was. At least that’s what his mom had said when they had gone over the schedule for the season. Start in the East and go West. That had been the plan. Dick laughed at the thought, none of this was part of the plan. 

It turned out Dick _didn’t_ remember how to pitch a tent, perhaps he was missing something he needed. He thought he could remember his dad using sticks to make it stand up. But he had none and no matter how much he looked around he couldn’t find any that were big enough to keep the tarp upright. 

After half an hour of trying and failing to get it to prop up right Dick gave up and simply folded it over and crawled inside. It would be like a sleeping bag he decided. 

Dick woke abruptly, and for a moment didn’t remember. 

“Mom?” He yelled. Why was he so cold? Why was he wet?

Dick opened his eyes only to be greeted by the darkness. 

“Mom!” He shouted. Still confused as to why he wasn’t in his bed in the trailer. An owl’s hoot was his only reply. Rain pattered down on the tarp and leaves and braken were blown about. He was… oh. Dick thought bitterly. Dick frowned looking at the tarp. The half that had been folded over him must have been blown back by the wind, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to the rain and dirt. Dick stifled a sniff. He wouldn’t cry. He would not cry. No. Crying was-- He had cried too much already, and it made no difference. No one ever came. 

Dick stood up, to gather the tarp back up, if only to use it to stop the rain from hitting is now soaking skin. Shivers racked his body as he moved slowly in the dark. A howling gust of wind attacked him and Dick fell back in fear, as leaves danced in the shadows and tree branches creaked ominously.

The moment his feet left the ground the tarp was ripped up and way from the earth. Dick watched in horror as it flew. He fell back onto his back watching as it disappeared into the darkness of the woods. This time he couldn’t hold back the tears. 

Very slowly, and miserably he pulled himself up. Leaves and mud stuck to his back and elbows. He trudged over to his backpack still leaning against the trunk of the tree-- now waterlogged and likely damaged. He doubted the pop tarts were even dry. Dick sank down next to it and put his head in his hands. 

Dick wanted him mom so badly it hurt. He wanted his dad. He wanted to be in his bed in their trailer and under his quilt. He wanted to sleep next to his elephant and to wake up to his mom making breakfast. But he never would have that again. He would never see his Dad smile at him again. He would never--

Dick sobbed. The sobs turned to screams which turned to shouts. But that wasn’t enough. He wanted to do more. He needed to do more. Dick stood up and picked up his bag. He threw it as hard as he could against the tree. Dick picked up a stick and beat the ground with it. 

The stick snapped. 

He picked up a rock. With all his might he hurled it away from him, as if it was grief itself. He picked up stick after stick, stone after stone. And pounded and threw. When that wasn’t enough and his arms grew tired, he began to kick. He kicked at the trunk of the old tree as if it had killed his parents. He pictured the faces of the men from that day and kicked harder. He kicked until his toes were numb and his shoes were broken. 

Finally, when he had no energy left, he slumped down again and cried. He was cold and wet, tired and sore. His arms and feet felt both numb and aching, which Dick hadn’t thought was possible. 

The wind continued to howl and the rain continued to pour. Dick wondered for a moment if this was better. Maybe he would be washed away and the mud would become his tomb. A shadow fell over him and the water stopped it’s assault on his skin. Dick looked up blurrily through his wet bangs. _Dad_.

He felt his chest swell with joy, only to burst again when the figure spoke. 

“Dick?” Bruce was soaking wet. His hair was plastered to him and he looked like he had more mud on him then Zitka ever had. 

Dick stood, swaying slightly from the sudden movement. “Go away!” 

Bruce didn’t recoil, instead he pulled his jacket off from his shoulders and draped it over Dick’s shaking body. “Let's get back inside. It’s freezing.”

“No.” Dick shouted. “I’m -- I don’t want to! You can’t make me!” His voice was drowned out by the wind and rain, but Bruce seemed to hear him anyway. 

“Buddy. We can’t--”

“Don’t--” Dick felt tears building behind his eyes again. His uncle had always called him that. “I’m-- I’m not going back.”

Bruce huffed, reaching out for Dick. “You can’t stay here. You’ll freeze. If you-- we can figure something out in the morning just--”

“Good.” Dick slammed his arms against Bruce, causing the man to jump back slightly. “Let me freeze. I shouldn’t be here anyway. I don’t want-- I don’t want to be.” 

Bruce watched him carefully for a moment then stepped forward. Dick screamed as Bruce picked him up. He held Dick so that he was half draped over his shoulder. 

“Put me down. Put me down.” He screamed as he slammed his fists into Bruce’s back. The man’s grip didn’t waver, it didn’t tighten either though. He reached down and plucked Dick’s backpack from the ground as well and turned. Bruce didn’t say anything. He took every punch and kick without so much as a grunt. He simply walked on.

Dick gave up beating Bruce’s back after half an hour. He gave up screaming when his voice died another fifteen minutes later. 

Dick finally slumped on his shoulders and gave up trying to get away. He was spent. 

“Dick?” Bruce finally asked after he had been still for a while. 

Dick huffed but didn’t answer.

“I-- I didn’t--” Bruce cleared his throat. “Would you be more comfortable on my back?”

Dick frowned. He didn’t much care for being carried like a sack of potatoes, but he was far too tired to walk now. 

“Maybe.” He said finally. 

Bruce came to a sudden halt and set him down. Dick only considered running for a moment. He was tired, Bruce had his backpack and his shoes were peeling apart from kicking the tree. When Bruce turned so that he could latch on to his back, Dick reached forward. He only hated himself for it a little. 

Bruce felt so warm. Dick wondered if he should have given him his coat back. He must feel cold right now. His mom always said it wasn’t good if the body felt too hot. It meant it was fighting to stay warm. 

He bit down his concern for the man holding him. He didn’t want to feel it. He didn’t want to care about anyone ever again. All caring did was hurt in the end. Everyone left. Dick would leave Bruce before Bruce could leave him. That was the only way to make sure it never hurt. 

Dick’s throat felt raw, but the sound of the wind and rain was terrible. The branches of trees were still creaking and groaning as the wind whipped them this way and that. The leaves were falling and twirling in the dark and if Dick looked over Bruce’s shoulder it looked oddly like figures moving about in the trees. It felt _scary_ and even with Bruce holding him and heating him Dick couldn’t take it. He wanted anything to drown out the sounds and shadows rushing around him. 

“This is kidnapping, you know.” Dick mumbled into Bruce’s shoulder. 

“Is it now?” There was something in Bruce’s voice Dick had never heard before. It sounded suspiciously like amusement. 

“Yeah. If you don’t want to go with someone and they make you, it’s kidnapping.” Dick said louder. The wind was still screaming in his ears. 

“I don’t think that applies when it’s your guardian, bud-- Dick.” Bruce stepped over a fallen log carefully. 

“Well, I don’t want you to be my guardian.” Dick burrowed his face into the man’s shoulder blade. 

“I know.” Bruce said softly. Dick for a moment wondered if it had really been the wind that spoke. 

The house came into view after what felt like ages. The lights of the manor shone brightly in the dark and stormy night. 

Dick felt sick with himself when relief bubbled in his gut. He didn’t want to be here. So why was he so glad to see it?”

Bruce rather than walk to the back door, circled around to the side of the house, and through a door Dick had never seen or noticed. 

“Al?” He called loudly into the dark of the house. “Al!” 

Bruce fumbled along the wall looking for a light switch. Dick clung to the mans back all while he moved around the room, searching. Once he found the light switch Dick’s eyes were blinded by the brilliance of the bulb. 

Dick had never been in this room before or any room like it. The floor and walls were tiled and there was an odd looking sink in the corner. It was very large and had a sprayer hose attached to it. 

The room was filled with dark cabinets and shoe racks. On the wall opposite the weird sink was a counter over the tops of several sets of washing machines and dryers. Dick frowned. This wasn’t the laundry room Alfred had shown him his first day at the manor. There was also a thick layer of dust on the shelves and cupboards. Rows of old boots, fishing rods, towels and cleaning supplies were neatly placed around the room, and even with how tidily kept it was, it still felt strangely messy, as if the room contained the ghost of chaos long ended.

Bruce quickly walked over to the counter and set Dick down. Dick didn’t even have time to miss the heat of Bruce’s body when a large, stiff towel was draped over him. The towel smelled like must and dust.

“Alfred!” Bruce yelled, yanking the door open. Dick wondered what part of the house they were in. Bruce’s house was far too big, he thought. 

Bruce was suddenly back in front of him and fussily adjusting the towel so that it covered more of Dick’s skin and hair. 

“Hold on. I think there’s a space heater in here somewhere, bud--Dick.” Bruce corrected himself again. He began yanking open cupboards and pulling their contents out. 

“I’m fine.” Dick pushed back the towel so that it wasn’t on top of his head anymore. “I’m not even cold.” He lied through slightly chattering teeth. 

Bruce made no comment and only continued to destroy the room in search of the supposed space heater. He emptied cupboard after cupboard and still didn’t seem to find what he was looking for. He pulled out gloves and gardening tools, tackle boxes and strange looking instruments. Dick watched with in confusion as Bruce stacked item after item on the floor, and still looked on. He hadn’t thought Bruce would be so worried. He wasn’t _that_ cold. 

“Master Bruce? Is that-- Good heavens!” Alfred came around the door just as Bruce shoved a stack of old rain boots aside to get into yet another cupboard. Alfred’s eyes swept the room taking in the destruction and muddy trail Bruce was leaving behind him. Then his eyes fell upon Dick, and his stern expression softened. 

“Oh, Master Richard! You are soaked through.” 

Dick turned red under his towel and nodded slowly. 

Alfred turned on his heel and opened a small cupboard and pulled from within it a small fan like device. Bruce blinked. 

“I assume this is what you were looking for, sir?” Alfred strode over the mess of shoes and tools and side stepped a patch of mud. He plugged it in and turned the fan so that it faced Dick. It seemed to work instantly, though Dick supposed he might have just been that cold. Warmth radiated out from the blades and lines of wire began to glow red hot. Dick felt some of the chattering and shivering let up. 

Bruce was back in front of him, looking at him with a pinched expression. 

“I shall get you both some warm things to wear.” Alfred started toward the door. “Best wash off in here. I won’t have this mud in the house.” He added to Bruce as he reached the door. 

“Right.” Bruce nodded. 

“There are bubbles under the wash.” Alfred called as he strode into the hall.

Dick frowned bubbles, why would they need bubbles?

Bruce glanced at him nervously and walked over to the funny looking sink. He bent down and began rummaging underneath it, for whatever these bubbles were. When he stood up, he had in his hands a very dusty pink bottle that looked like it hadn’t seen the light of day in at _least_ a gazillion years. 

“Come on, let's get you out of those wet clothes, Dick. You’ll get sick if you stay in them.” Bruce turned on the water and let it run for a moment, before putting a stopper in the drain. He then dumped half of the bottle out into the water. 

Dick watched Bruce fill the sink as he pulled off his ruined shoes and mud clogged shirt and trousers. He couldn’t find a good place to put the dirty clothing so he left it in a lump on the floor. The washing machines looked as if they hadn’t been used in the past decade so Dick didn’t even try to pry open the door. Bruce turned and picked him up under his arms and set him in the sink. 

“Hey!” Dick frowned. He was much too big to take a bath in this gigantic sink. 

“You heard Al. you need to wash off the mud.” Bruce smiled at him and handed him a washcloth. Dick crossed his arms as bubbles continued to raise up in the sink around him. He would do no such thing.

This was childish. This was.. Well he didn’t know what, but it was stupid. Bruce didn’t have to get in the sink, why did he have to? Bruce might not have had as much mud on him but he was dripping wet and his boots were caked with clumps of sod. 

“Dick?” Bruce frowned at him as sat unmoving surrounded by mounds of bubbles. 

“No.” 

“No? No what?” Bruce pulled a stool over and sat next to him, now removing his own rather muddy boots.

“I-- I don’t want to.” Dick pulled his knees up so that his chin rested on them. Bubbles pressed against his mouth and he fought the urge to spit at them. 

“You don’t want to be clean or you don’t want to clean up yourself?” Bruce tilted his head causing water to drip off his ear as it ran down his still drenched head. 

“I don’t--” Dick frowned, he suddenly felt very tired. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to take a bath, but he also hated the way the mud was sticking in his ear. The leaves stuck to his arms and legs _were_ rather uncomfortable. 

Bruce snatched up a towel and ran it over his own head roughly several times. When it fell away his hair was sticking up at odd angles. 

“How about I help you get cleaned up, and then if you want you can have some tea before bed?” Bruce asked, now peeling his soggy t-shirt off of him. His skin was red and covered in goosebumps. Dick frowned and fought the urge to reach out and turn the heater to face Bruce. Bruce stood up and snatched Dick’s clothes up off the floor and wadded them up with his own shirt. Dick watched him silently move around the room. 

“Dick?” 

He jumped slightly in the sink causing the water to splash and slosh over the edge slightly.

Bruce raised an eyebrow expectantly and Dick nodded. He felt his face heat up and wondered if his ears were as red as they felt. 

Bruce slumped back down on the stool he had very briefly abandoned to put both his and Dick’s clothing in a basket. He picked up the wash cloth and scooped up a handful of bubbles. Very gently he ran it up and down Dick’s arms and legs wiping off leaves and clumps of mud. He grabbed the sprayer device attached to the sink and washed out Dick’s hair and sprayed his down his back. 

It was rather nice, Dick thought. It was kind of like what his mom would do after he played in the animal pin. She would spray him down with the water hose as if _he_ were an elephant. 

A shot of pain went through his chest. Tears bubbled up in his eyes and Dick suddenly felt an intense hatred for Bruce Wayne. How dare he-- How dare he save him. Why couldn’t he just leave him in the woods to die. Then he could have at least been with his mom, his dad. 

The water stopped. “Bud--Dick?” 

Dick squeezed his eyes closed. And he heard Bruce sigh. After a moment, hands began soaping up his hair and the water sprayer was turned on again. Dick felt hot tears leak out from his eyes despite his attempts to hold them in. 

“Alright I’ve got you both, some flannel pajamas that should do the trick.” Alfred returned and looked about the room exasperated. 

The sink was filled with brown water, leaves and mucky bubbles, Bruce was only half dry, and the room still looked as if a tornado had touched down in it. 

“You can’t be clean in _that_.” Alfred gestured to the muddy water Dick was sitting in. 

Bruce looked sheepishly up from where he was sitting. “Right. Sorry.” 

Alfred just sighed and put the clothing and fresh towels down on the counter next to the sink. 

Bruce unstoppered the sink and turned the tap back on. The bubbles continued to rise even as the muddy water drained and was replaced by fresh. Soon the water was clear again and Bruce replaced the plug. “You okay for round two?”

Dick sniffed and nodded. The water was warm and the bubbles smelt nice. Bruce set about sudsing up his hair again. If he closed his eyes it was easy to imagine it was his mom’s fingers going in circles on his scalp, or that it was his father humming lightly. Dick forced his eyes open. 

After Dick’s hair was washed, _again,_ Bruce scooped up a handful of bubbles and blew it at him with a half smile on his face. Dick slapped his hand away angrily. He knew what Bruce was trying to do. And he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to feel better. He didn’t want-- He couldn’t want to play. Not now. Not _ever_. 

Bruce raised his eyebrow and picked up the still sopping wet washcloth and plopped it on Dick’s face. The rag slid down his face slowly leaving a trail of bubbles on Dick’s chin and fell with a splash into the basin below. 

Dick sat stunted for a moment and Bruce was perched, frozen on his stool watching him carefully. Dick slowly reached down seizing a handful of his own bubbles and shoved it into Bruce’s face. Bruce related back spluttering. 

Suddenly the room was in chaos. Water was sloshing over the edge of the sink and bubbles were flying. Bruce and Dick were splashing each other ferociously. Dick half launched himself at the man, causing water to fly across the room. Bruce in turn snatched the sprayer and began firing water at Dick. Dick went for the soap bottle, snatching up the faded pink plastic. He began shaking it this way and that, causing the liquid to splatter over all the surfaces. Bruce’s bare feet slipped this way and that over the tile floor as soap and water coated it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw Alfred climb onto the counter above the washing machines on the opposite wall. Bruce set down the hose and snatched up a towel throwing it over the top of Dick. Dick squirmed to poke his head out just as Bruce’s arms moved around him, trapping him within the mass of fabric. 

It wasn’t until Dick was breathless laughing that Bruce finally sank back onto the stool surrounded by a puddle of water and soap. He held Dick in the now rather wet towel on his lap, both gasping for breath between giggles.

Dick hiccupped as he fought to contain his laughter. He shouldn’t laugh, but Bruce had a pile of bubbles atop his head that looked rather like a pirate hat. _And_ Alfred was still perched on the counter. Alfred didn’t look half as amused as Dick felt.

Bruce was watching him with that funny look again. Dick felt his face flush and he reached to pull his towel up over his face. It was rather wet. Bruce laughed and turned to Alfred. “Do you mind getting us some more towels?”

Alfred snorted. “I’ll get you the mop too, shall I?”

Bruce smiled and stood. He set Dick down on the counter again next to the heater and slowly made his way across the room to where Alfred sat. Dick curled his toes into the large towel as Bruce reached out to help Alfred down. He held the older man’s elbow all the way to the hall. Dick watched them silently navigate the puddles of soap, mud and water. 

Now that he wasn’t moving, he felt sad again. He had… He had laughed. He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have had fun and played. But it-- Dick had _missed_ playing. Bruce turned back from the door, and looked at him. Dick watched the smile melt off his face as he took in Dick’s expression. Dick felt his heart lerch at the sight. He liked it when Bruce smiled he decided. 

Alfred didn’t take long to return with yet another set of pajamas--the first were now dripping-- and still more towels. Once assured that Bruce was infact going to clean up the space himself, Alfred slipped back out of the room. Bruce dumped a pile of towels-- save for the two that he had wrapped both himself and Dick up in-- on the floor and moved them around with his feet soaking up the water and soap. Then he reached forward and pulled Dick down from the counter. 

“Do you want help, bud--” Bruce’s jaw snapped shut and Dick feared he might have bit his tongue. “Sorry. I know you don’t like that.” 

Dick tilted his head slightly and allowed Bruce to help him into the dry pajamas. Bruce quickly donned his and looked around the room with a frown. 

“How about you go to the kitch--” 

“My uncle called me that.” Dick said in a rush of breath.

Bruce stilled. 

“I… it makes me sad.” Dick shuffled his bare feet over the pile of towels he stood on. 

Bruce cleared his throat. “My dad used to call me chum.”

Dick blinked and looked up at Bruce’s face. His eyes were dark and his expression pinched. “Isn’t that food for... fish?”

A smile split Bruce’s face. “Yeah. He used to say I was the best bait to lure my mom away so that she wouldn’t catch him sneaking cookies before dinner.”

Dick glanced around at all the fishing rods and tackle boxes littering the room. He wondered if Bruce’s dad liked to fish. They seemed like they hadn’t been used for a very long time. 

Bruce stood smiling to himself lost in thought for a moment before his eyes refocused on Dick. “So what do you say, how about you go get some tea and I’ll clean this up?”

Dick frowned. The idea of walking to the kitchen to find Alfred left him feeling _cold_. This little dusty room seemed to be the warmest part of the house he had ever been in. 

“I could help.” Dick said looking around the room at the mess.

“Only if you want to.” 

“Yeah.” Dick leaned down and pulled the wet towels up from the ground and tossed them into the basket with his and Bruce’s clothes. 

The two worked in silence, putting things back into cupboards, wiping up puddles and rinsing off Bruce’s boots in the sink. Finally Bruce unplugged the space heater and ushered Dick into the hall. 

The door closed behind them with a soft click. 

“What _is_ that room for?” Dick asked as they made their way through the house back towards familiar spaces. 

“It’s the mud room.” Bruce said quietly. 

“Huh?” Dick laughed. “That’s a weird name.” 

“Yeah, it kind of is. But it’s for washing off so you don’t get mud and dirt all over the house. When I was small, the dog would sometimes get into the creek in the woods and so we would have to wash him before he could come inside.”

Dick stopped and Bruce walked into him. Bruce’s hand shot out to stop Dick from falling forward, and he grunted in surprise.

“Dick?”

“That was a _dog_ bath?” Dick spun in surprise.

Bruce relieved that Dick wasn’t hurt, just snorted and nodded.

Dick muttered darkly to the floor the rest of the way to the kitchen. He knew that sink was weird. Who had baths made just for dogs in their house? 

They made it to the kitchen and found Alfred pouring steaming mugs of tea. Dick felt his stomach grumble at the smell. 

Bruce carefully put the laundry basket full of towels and Dick’s backpack down on the floor. “Thanks Al.”

“Of course. It seemed like a good night for some tea.” 

Out the window Dick could see sheets of rain blowing against the house. He shivered as he climbed onto one of the stools.

Bruce eyed him nervously, pulling out the stool next to Dick. “You still cold?”

Dick nodded and dragged the tray of tea over the counter so that they could reach the cups. The heat seemed to soak into his fingers and up into his arms. Bruce frowned, but didn’t say anything more. 

They drank their tea looking out the window at the stormy night for a long time. Dick wondered what time it was. It must be late. Alfred and Bruce however didn’t seem the least bit tired. Dick stifled a yawn behind his mug. 

A dinging sound broke the silence of the room and Alfred stood, shuffling to the oven. Bruce and Dick watched him pull a tray of cookies out from the furnace of an oven. The smell of sugar filled the room along with a wave of heat as Alfred closed the oven door once more. Dick felt his stomach rumble again. The cookies were small sugar cookies. But they looked wonderful. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Cookies? Al, I’ve not seen you make cookies since I was in high school.” 

“Well, you didn’t ever want to eat them, sir. I made these for Master Richard’s lunches.”

Bruce reached forward to pluck one off the pan, but Alfred smacked his hand away.

“Al.” Bruce whined as Dick giggled. 

“Absolutely not. Sugar at this hour? Absolutely not, sir.” Alfred tutted at him aghast. 

Bruce slumped forward and muttered into his tea. 

Dick frowned. “Er… Alfred? Do we have any…um... blankets?” 

Alfred straightened. “Of course we do.” 

“Do you think you could show me where they are? I wanted to put an extra one on my bed.” Dick looked up at him through wide eyes. 

Alfred smiled and glanced down at Dick’s now empty tea cup. “Of course. Are you ready for bed now?” 

Dick nodded and slid off his stool. 

Alfred turned and started towards the door. As soon as Alfred couldn’t see his face, Dick blinked at Bruce, causing the man’s eyebrows to shoot up. 

Dick turned away quickly, unable to dwell on the confusing feeling making his stomach churn. He liked being here, maybe just a little. It wasn’t the circus and it wasn’t what he wanted. But perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he had thought when he set out into the night either. He hurried after Alfred pushing down the guilt he felt at being warm and just a little more content then he had been early.

Dick was almost out the door when Bruce called out. Dick hopped his ears didn’t turn to red as he flushed with excitement.

The words sounded oddly thick as if spoken around a sugar cookie. “Good night, Chum.”


End file.
